N7 Chronicles
by torridstoic
Summary: Currently a one-shot, likely more later. Commander Shepard, betrayed by those he trusted and isolated against the Collector threat, struggles alone. A shock at Horizon threatens to pull him under.


**Author's Note:** Hello, and welcome! For those of you following me from my other story, I'm so sorry. I am alive. I got suddenly busy years ago, set it aside, and then forgot. Recently I've picked up my pen again, and I do intend to finish, but re-engaging on that plot that's been sitting for a while is tough. I have half the next chapter written, though! Fingers crossed.  
Regardless, Mass Effect has always been my true fandom. I am a junkie, can't get enough. This one-shot has been kicking around in my head for years, and I finally got it out. Also, I know I said one-shot, but I think I'll probably add more chapters to this, in no particular order, and flesh out more of Shepard's story over time. No promises, but I'd love to keep this rolling.  
With that stuff out of the way, here we go! Please, please send me feedback. I'm not a writer by trade, and I'd love to improve. And on a totally selfish note, nothing helps motivate more than knowing that people care. Thanks for reading, and I hope to satisfy enough that you continue to do so! **Happy N7 Day!**

* * *

 **N7 Chronicles**

 **The Vanguard**

-2185 CE-  
-Normandy SR-2, Captain's Cabin-

 _"I still know where_ my _loyalties lie."_

Shepard downed the rest of his glass and slammed it back onto the desk. Ashley's words repeated again in his head, driving deeper and deeper every time. He couldn't stop remembering, no matter what he did tonight. His eyes ran over the familiar lines of her picture, but this time her lips weren't smiling, and her eyes stared accusingly at him.

 _"I still know where_ my _loyalties lie."_

He reached back for the whisky bottle, poured again, drank again. This was all FUBAR. They brought him back from the dead to fight, but _they_ were Cerberus. So his enemies brought him back, fine. So they saddled him with a ship with an AI and a crew he couldn't trust, fine. He'd make do. He still had allies, he still had friends.

But he didn't. He'd run into Tali, but she was too busy to be just one Goddamned person he could trust in this snake pit. Liara was working for the Shadow Broker for who-the-fuck-knew what reason, but the Broker was out for him in a bad way, so he couldn't even _try_ to reach out to her. Wrex was on Tuchanka, and there was literally no worse place in the galaxy to bring a Cerberus frigate. The Alliance, his own people, the people he had believed in and fought with and served and trusted, had given him up. Not only had they declared him dead, but when he walked back in and said hi, they called him a liar. The Council, who had never liked him in the first place, just pretended he had never happened.

And now Horizon. And Ashley.

He finished the glass. Poured another. Finished it, too.

He couldn't even look at her picture, anymore. Those eyes burned into him, raked at his soul. He stood and moved to the couch, but his leg stuttered and he staggered to a stop. The alcohol must have finally started to hit him. Shepard glanced back at the five empty bottles strewn across the desk and shrugged. _Finally._ Those fucking Cerberus cybernetic "upgrades" he hadn't asked for came with a laundry list of side effects, and apparently one of them was near-immunity to alcohol.

The couch conformed to him, hugging and supporting his weary muscles, and he groaned. The military man in him hated this comfort, but every day on this ship he hated it a little less. And he hated that even more.

Ashley. Anderson had given him the run-around, the standard bull that Ash was deep-cover and Shepard didn't have Security To Know, which of course he did, being a Spectre, but due to his Unique Circumstances he couldn't pull that rank and ended up bottling the rage and walking away from another stonewall from another Former Friend. But Horizon happened, and she was there, and his life had finally, _finally_ seemed like it might be worth being part of again, and then …

 _"I still know where_ my _loyalties lie."_

The one person he knew was on his side, knew would be with him, had called him a traitor and turned her back. God, he had tried to come back to his people, his cause, he had tried so _hard,_ but not a single person had been willing to take him again. How could she not see that? How could he have done anything differently?

How could the woman he loved cast him aside so easily?

So she left him. And he came back to his ship full of murderers and criminals, told his pilot to head to shithole Omega so he could get help from even worse criminals, ignored the Illusive Man's call, and went up to his cabin to get shitfaced drunk.

Time to take stock. What did he have on his side right now? The Illusive Man thought he was running the show, and he probably was at the moment, but his control wasn't as perfect as he thought. Some small room to maneuver there. Queen Bitch Miranda was definitely not Team Shepard. Jacob was on the fence, and Shepard appreciated the man's soldierly qualities, but Jacob didn't know what he believed in and so he couldn't be believed in, either. Joker, more a pilot than a soldier in the first place, had been co-opted by Cerberus and their resources. Zaeed and Kasumi were here for one thing: money, and that was coming from the Illusive Man. Mordin's loyalties were clearly still STG. Grunt was an insane tank-bred killing machine. Jack was the same, minus the tank. And Garrus. Thank God for Garrus; it was a safe bet Shepard would have been dead or insane by now without him.

One man he could trust. Surrounded by enemies, joined by lunatics, cut off from all support. And he was literally the only man in the galaxy actually working to stop the Reapers.

He needed that bottle, but it still sat on the desk across the room. The biotics gave him headaches every night, time to make them do some work for him. He reached out, cupping soft, invisible hands on the whisky, gently lifting it. Gently, gently, he _pulled_ , slowly bringing it through the air toward—

It crashed violently against the bulkhead above him. Shepard bellowed a vicious krogan curse as the alcohol splashed onto his head, burning horribly as it leaked into his glowing red scars. He lashed out, smashing the ship model display case with his biotics, wanting to destroy, just absolutely fed up—

Abruptly, he stilled. Alliance biotic training had taught him how to blast and warp, how to push and throw, how to make a protective barrier. What had he just done? A pull? In combat, he could…

What _more_ could he do?

"EDI!" he called. He jumped to his feet, swaying only briefly.

The AI's interface sprang to life near the doorway. "Yes, Shepard?" it replied calmly. Come to think of it, it had actually left him alone remarkably well tonight.

He thought about that a moment, then shook it off. _Later._ "Call Garrus. Tell him," _wait a moment. No idea what I'm doing, don't want to take out my only backer. Better get the big guy._ "Belay that. I want Grunt in the hangar in two minutes."

* * *

"Why are we down here, Shepard?" Grunt rumbled. The krogan was loaded for combat, clearly expecting a launch mission, fully armored with his shotgun strapped to his back. The brute was already huge, and the gear just made him look terrifying.

Shepard stood near him on the hangar deck, looking around. He tried not to sway, mostly successfully, but the whisky was definitely having an effect. This was the only place on the ship big enough for the tests he had in mind. Unfortunately, it was open enough for eyes he didn't want present, but there was no getting around it.

He turned back to Grunt, looked him full in the eyes. _Dominance_. "Need to try a couple things. No launch today, but this is just as important. Stand here and wait a minute." Shepard turned his back deliberately and paced across the deck, ignoring the basso growl behind him. Reaching his destination, he turned, measured the distance— _about fifteen meters_ —planted his feet, and focused.

 _Shotgun in right hand. Grab enemy. Pull to me, close-range, blast._ If this was possible, it was going to revolutionize biotic combat.

He staggered, momentarily light-headed, then regained his balance and re-doubled his focus. He felt his grasp on the huge krogan, saw Grunt shudder.

 _Now pull!_

Grunt growled and staggered, but didn't move more than a meter. That wasn't enough, not nearly enough to be useful. Did the difference in mass between the bottle and the krogan really matter that much?

"Don't just pull," someone called from his right. Shepard spun to find Jacob leaning against the wall, arms crossed, calmly watching. "With something as big as people, we can't just pull. We have to form a field all the way around them, press the whole thing inward, and hold it all steady _while_ we pull. This ain't a parlor trick, man."

Well, shit. Now he had that audience he hadn't wanted. Shepard's vision swam for a brief moment as he turned to look back at the krogan, getting angrier by the moment. Without responding to Taylor, he focused on forming a biotic bubble around Grunt, edge by edge, making it as solid as possible, holding the whole thing together, a perfect insulation.

This was different. The control, the feel, on the krogan was so much more complete than before. He slowly grabbed hold with that part of his mind that controlled his biotic powers, reached and grasped and held, and then _yanked._

Shepard flew forward. He had just enough time to think, _I didn't wear any armor_ , before—

* * *

"—you feel this, Commander?"

He didn't open his eyes. That voice was Dr. Chakwas, the surface under his back was the medical bed, and his whole fucking body was pain. He had been here before.

"What's the damage today, Doc?" he rasped. Dry throat. No inebriation. He'd been unconscious for a while, definitely, but not days.

"Broken. Six ribs, left arm and leg, both wrists, three fingers. Nose. Luckily not your neck. Also, I'm told you nearly have a shotgun hole. You can thank Specialist Taylor here for avoiding that."

"Time frame?" He kept his eyes closed, welcomed the pain, remembered he was _human._

"Not long. Few days here, you know the drill. XO'll have to run things. Sorry, Commander."

He didn't like it, but he'd been here before and could accept it. She took her leave, and he waited. Silence.

"Taylor?" he asked. The other man broke his silence to grunt. "You kept Grunt from holing me?" Another grunt. "…Job well done, thank you. Dismissed."

Shepard heard a rustle. Knowing Jacob, the other man had probably stood and saluted. There was a pause, then he spoke.

"Sir, what I saw you do … that was incredible. You jumped across the entire hangar like you were flying. A little fine-tuning and that'll get you point-blank on any target before they can blink. Was that intentional? I mean, I don't even know how…?"

Shepard opened his eyes. The light hurt, but he blinked just once, didn't squint. He turned his head and fixed Jacob with a stare. Pain racked him inside, but outside he was stone. "Taylor, I'm Commander Shepard. This is what I do."


End file.
